


This Endless Wandering Wait

by cheriepits



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Achilles is a Navy SEAL, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Patroclus is a pediatrician, Reincarnation, adding tags as I go, close combat and amputations, i am made of memories, queer insecurity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:48:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5379092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheriepits/pseuds/cheriepits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone once told me it's the greatest grief to be left on earth when another is gone. . . . I'm not afraid of dying. . . . It's some unknown worse that I fear. . . . .</p><p>Achilles and Patroclus are reincarnated in the midst of a zombie outbreak. They find each other and vow this life will not be like their last. "I will not lose you again, Patroclus," Achilles swears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fate

I have never been afraid of dying.  
  
I've seen it, both up close and at a distance-- as an eager and hopeful resident at the hospital and as a desperate fugitive running from these "undead."  
  
I suppose it's a miracle I've lasted this long. I've been lucky. And now my luck's run out. That's all.

I hope it doesn't hurt. I'm afraid of the pain. Yeah, that's all. 

It's what's kept me running all this time: the screams of all those people who weren't as lucky. Screams as they fell under the hoards of biting and tearing and crushing of skin and guts and bone. Screams of people being eaten alive. Eaten raw. And here I am, running out of breath as I try to run away from this final hoard behind me. But I know, I'll be eaten raw.  
  
I hope it doesn't hurt. Please don't let it hurt.  
  
My leg gives out from under me. Maybe it was a dip in the ground or that old soccer injury come back to haunt me. Or maybe I'm just tired and I don't want to keep running. I don't want to keep waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for fate.

No, she can wait.

I scramble against the gravel, trying to stand back up. I don't want to die just yet. But it's all for naught because I keep slipping and sliding until I misstep and my ankle twists. Damn, that hurts.  
  
I turn around and see them-- a dozen walkers stumbling towards me. I see it-- my inevitable end. My fate.  
  
I hope it doesn't hurt. Please let it be quick.  
  
I wonder who they were before they died. I wonder how they laughed and smiled. If they had families and friends they met with every night. If they ran before they got caught. Can they see me? Or am I just another body-- just meat for them to eat? Why do they eat us? Surely they don't need to. They're dead. They don't metabolize. Why? Why? WHY!?!  
  
I take in my last breath to scream up at the heavens in rage and fear, but it evaporates on my lips as a spear flies out from left field. It hits the foremost walker. The head flies off, torn violently from the cold corpse body still wandering aimlessly before it falls.

I'm breathless again when I see him run towards them. He's fearless.

All I see is blonde hair and strong arms swinging madly into the hoard. He doesn't stop to look at me until he's nearly finished. The last walker stumbles away from him and he pauses to look back at me. He smiles for just an instant before he runs after that final walker and takes its head clear off.

I'm still staring.  
  
"Alright there?" he shouts as he jogs towards me. His hair is matted in decayed blood and flesh; his skin is smeared with ugly black-grey slime. But still, he's radiant.

"Yeah," I mumble as I check my ankle quickly. It's sprained, but not badly. I should stay off of it for about six weeks, but that's not an option. I look up and find his hand stretched out before me. I take it and he pulls me up. He's warm to the touch. Soft and smooth.

"You're a pretty fast runner," he says with a grin as he looks me up and down.

"Not fast enough, apparently."

He shrugs. "You looked okay. Till you fell."

"Uh, sure..." I look over his shoulder at the mass of decapitated bodies. I wasn't okay. I wouldn't have been okay. "Thanks for... saving me."

He smiles. "Couldn't have let them get you."

_Sure you could have. But thanks anyway._ I want to say it, but I don't.

"So where are you from?" he asks, wiping the sides of his blade against his pants.

"Oakland."

He looks at me wide-eyed before he laughs. It's bright and confident. Almost too loud for this barren urban wasteland. "I mean where have you been hiding out? You know, since... the outbreak."

"Oh."

I should have known-- the world before is gone; it doesn't matter who we were or where we came from before the outbreak. There is only now--  _since_  the outbreak. 

"Uh, around, I guess," I correct myself. "I've been moving in and out of the houses mostly. Scrounging for food. Safer than the stores..."

He nods. I see him looking me over. He's checking my arms and legs, my clothes, my face. Then his eyes settle onto mine and I feel how cool his green eyes are. Green with flecks of gold-- like the sun setting on the sea. 

"You're not a Trojan, are you?" he finally asks.

"A what?"

He laughs again, this time softly, as he shakes his head. "Didn't think so."

My ankle starts to hurt and I feel exposed in this open field. But I'd rather be with this stranger than without, so I'm in no hurry to leave.

"You do seem familiar, though," he continues. 

I study him-- his wavy, blonde hair and sun-bronzed skin, boyish grin and cool, clear eyes. He seems familiar to me too. 

"I used to work in the hospital. Oakland General. Maybe you saw me there?"

He shrugs. "Never spent much time in the East Bay. Never been to Oakland General, either." He stretches and scans the horizon. "What's your name?"

The sun is setting--  more quickly than I'd like. It'll be dark soon and I need to find someplace to hide. "Patroclus. Patroclus Menoetius."

"Anyone call you Pat for short?"

"No."

He grins. "Pa-tro-clus," he says. It makes my heart shudder and my breath hitches. "My name's Achilles. Achilles Pelides."

_Achilles._

It sounds like something I've heard in a dream. Or a memory I've lost.  

"Come on," he interrupts my thoughts. "Let's find some place to crash for the night. We won't make it back to camp in time."

"Camp?" I'm brought back to reality. To now in this field, staring at a heard of carnivorous undead.

He nods, stepping forward, but he waits for me to follow. I limp towards him. "Camp of the Achaeans. Out by the water. The walkers don't like the salt and the waves act as a natural sound barrier. 

Out by the water? I'd never considered it but it sounded perfect.

"Why did you leave if it's safer there?"

He turns to me again and smiles. "Zombies aren't the only danger to us out here. There are things more sinister than these poor mindless fools. I had some business to tend to."

I don't know what that means. Or what it's supposed to mean. Something worse than zombies? Do I want to follow him into it?

He laughs as if he's read my mind. "Don't worry, Patroclus. None of that concerns you. You said you worked at the hospital?"

"Yeah. I was a... resident. Doctor, I guess." I only had a year left anyway.

"So you're a healer," he smiles, "I can't see why anyone would want to throw you into the thick of battle. If you want to stay, I'm sure they'd appreciate your help in the medical tent. You'll be safe there."

_Safe?_

"So," he pauses and looks me straight in the face, "do you want to come with me?"

He was waiting. Standing still as stone, waiting for me to respond.

"Sure," I whisper.  _Yes_ , I want to shout. Medical tent or battlefield, whatever it is I'll take it-- so long as I'm not left alone. I'm so tired of running alone.

"Great," he smiles, again as radiant as the sun. "I'm glad you wandered this way, Patroclus. I'm glad to have found you."

It makes me laugh, for some reason.  _Me too_ , I think to myself.  _Surely more than you know._

 


	2. surprising

Walking with Achilles is strange.  

Since the outbreak, I've been alone more often than not. I met others and sometimes tagged along with the groups moving together, but for one reason or another, I always got separated. No one waited for anyone else-- no one could afford to. Once I started hiding out in the houses, I rarely saw anyone at all. 

Until Achilles.

I wonder how long I'll be able to stay with him. I can already see he's fast. He could outrun me faster than I'd draw breath. But he's patient with me. He waits for me and my ridiculous limp. It's stupid of him, but I'm not going to complain. 

I follow him silently, hoping he doesn't notice how much I'm slowing him down.

He stops suddenly and I walk into his arm. He's glaring down the street as he pushes me against the wall, a single finger pressed to his lips. And then I see them-- three zombies wandering down the street. Aimless, but dangerous. 

He turns to me and glances down at my ankle. So he hasn't forgotten. I wonder if he'll leave me now. I could probably hide under a car. They probably wouldn't think to look under the cars. But he doesn't leave. He points to the doorway and gestures for me to go inside. I move as quietly as I can. He follows silently. 

We hide behind the shelves and watch the doorway.  _Please don't let them find us. Please don't let them find us_.I plead into the silence.

But I hear a crash outside. Achilles pulls his knife out and his knuckles around his spear turn white. There's nothing I can do. I would turn and run, but with my ankle as it is, I know I don't have a chance. 

She's quick as she runs down the street. A flash of blue. She'll make it, I think-- wherever she's headed, she'll make it. But she doesn't. She turns around for just a moment and she doesn't see the loose brick in the road. She slips and falls and twists her ankle. And as she spins, groaning at the pain, I see her see us-- eyes wide in horror, but also in hope. 

It's so familiar. It's me--  _was_ me. Just earlier today. When I was running and fell and Achilles saved me. _It'll be okay_ , I think-- _he'll save you too._ But it's not. Because he's still standing here beside me when she's overrun. She screams and screams and screams as they tear into her. It isn't quick. She feels it all. 

I'm shaking and trembling, suffocating from fear. It's been months since I've seen something like this. I hadn't forgotten it, but I'd muted it. I turn away and my eyes settle on Achilles. He's standing still, eyes wide and observant. He's unflinching. Cold. 

It feels like forever before they finish. And we wait even longer after they've left. I'm exhausted and my shirt's soaked through from sweat when Achilles finally turns to me. He looks me up and down, his icy, green eyes searching my face for something I can't define. 

"I can't save everyone," he finally says.

I'm surprised. I open my mouth to say something, but I'm lost for words.

"She was... it was too late for her anyway." His eyes drop onto the shelf before us. It's empty and I know he sees nothing there.

"I... I would not have asked you to..." I stutter quietly.  _Nor would I_ _have asked you to risk yourself to save me_ , I want to say. 

His eyes dart up to mine. "You would be the first." 

 _What does that mean?_  I want to ask. But I miss my chance because he walks away. I limp after him, out onto the street where he crouches beside the girl. 

She's empty. Torn apart and eaten alive. The little bits of intestine left on the street look like purple glass beads in the dim light. She's smeared all over with blood, and the bits of skin left intact are already pale-- drained dry. Death is always so quick to claim its prize.

Achilles pulls out his knife. I'm glued to the spot as I watch him sever her head. I know it's necessary-- she may wake as one of them-- but I'm horrified. 

We walk on until the sun is completely gone. Then we climb up onto a billboard and watch the sky turn black. I'm too tired to fight the heavy sleep that comes over me. I hope he will not leave me.

 

\- - - 

 

The morning sun cuts into my sleep. It burns against my eyes as I struggle to sit up.

He's still here. Achilles. He's sitting with his spear straight across his legs staring into the distance. He turns to me and smiles. 

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty."

"You shoulda woken me," I mumble, rubbing my eyes awake.

He shrugs, "I'm in no rush. Are you?"

"I guess not."

I sit up and stretch my arms and legs. It takes me a moment but I realize that I'm hungry. I remember I have six protein bars and three bottles of water in my bag. Might as well eat now, I think.

"Here," I offer a bar to Achilles. 

He blinks at it. "Thanks," he says softly as he takes it.  

His fingers brush against my palm and my skin pricks up in goosebumps. 

"You slept well?" he asks after his first bite.

Images from my interrupted dream resurface-- bloodstained sandy shores and the brittle sharp clang of metal on metal ring in my ears. It's been a long time since I've had those dreams. Nightmares almost. 

I shrug, "it was alright. You?"

He takes another bite before he answers, "not really."

Honest. I guess I can appreciate that. Even though I don't know how to respond. I sit silent.

He doesn't seem to mind. He finishes the bar and tosses the crumpled wrapper onto the pavement 25 feet below.

"So, Oakland," he says, nonchalantly and effectively changing the subject. "You ever hung out in the South Bay? Maybe in high school? You just seem so familiar to me. How old are you anyway?"

I chew the dry protein mass in my mouth as quickly as I can. He laughs and I scowl at him. He raises his hands in apology. "Take your time," he laughs softly. 

I swallow uncomfortably and clear my throat. "I'm 29. Went to medical school at Stanford. But went back up to the East Bay for my residency."

Achilles nods thoughtfully. "Maybe that's it then. I did my undergrad at Stanford. Maybe our years overlapped?"

I'm surprised. He notices. 

"Baseball scholarship," he shrugs.

I'm embarrassed. "I didn't mean--"

He smiles. "It's cool. I'm not a brainiac." 

It's quiet again and he suggests we make our way down. He lowers the ladder we'd broken off the night before and fastens it to the ledge. It's shaky, but we make it down. The earth feels soft under my feet. 

We walk and walk and walk, out of the city, down the freeway, off the freeway, over fields and across the river. It's miles and miles of open land that would typically frighten me. But with him, I feel just fine. I'm surprised how much my ankle's healed overnight. I'm hopeful and at ease. Maybe that's why I feel so curious. 

"Where did you learn to fight?" I finally ask. I'd been watching him toss his spear up and down as he walked. 

He pauses and turns to me for a moment before he looks away again. "Navy."

"What, like the marines?"

He keeps his eyes on the horizon, scanning the distance. He spins the spear up in the air once before catching it and repositioning it as a walking stick. He grinds the end into the dirt as he goes. "SEALs."

"Oh." 

I'm not really surprised. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't fascinated. And frightened. I try to make light of it. "The US government so down on funding that they taught you to fight with spears and swords?"

It works. He grins at me. He picks up and tosses a small pebble across the field. "You're awkward," he says.

I laugh. "Thanks."

"Most people get a little freaked out when I tell them."

I shrug. "I am too. A little. Freaked out."

He smiles, but the light in his eyes is dim. "Because I'm a killer."

I'm surprised. "Uh..."

"It's okay," he shrugs. "It's true, I guess. And I'm good at it. It never really bothered me. But..." he trails off and picks up another pebble and rolls it between his fingers. "You believe in karma?" 

"Huh?"

"You know, some kind of cosmic pay back system."

"I know what it is," I roll my eyes inadvertently. "I just... you don't strike me as the kind of person who'd think about something like that."

He laughs. "Why not?"

"I don't know. You just... You seem like..." I stumble over my words. "You seem to be in control of your life..."

His eyes settle onto mine and I lose my thoughts.

"Is anyone ever really?" he whispers.

I don't know what he means. 

He sighs. "I spent my life following orders. I usually believed I was doing the right thing. I still believe I did only what I needed to. But... everybody belongs to someone. And I hurt more than just the people I killed. I ended them and started some other person's hell, you know?"

I stare at him.  _No. I don't know._

"Someone once told me that the greatest grief is to be left on earth when another is gone," he says softly.

The words hang in the air and my chest suddenly feels empty. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

"I've always felt like..." he shakes his head. "Ah, it's stupid."

"No, I'm sure it isn't," I offer. 

He looks up. His face is inscrutable before he turns from me. He tosses his spear across the field. It sails through the air in a perfect arc and lands with a thud meters ahead. 

"I've always felt like I owe..." He shakes his head again. "I'm paying for something. I just don't know what."

He walks forward and I follow.  _Paying for something?_

I watch as he pulls his spear from the ground. He toes off the bit of dirt still stuck on its point. 

"The worst part is... I feel like... I feel like I'll never... I won't make up for it in time."

I have no idea what he's going on about. "In time for what?"

He turns around and grins at me. "Before fate gets her last laugh and finishes me off."

I stare at him. 

"Morbid?" he chuckles. 

"Uh... Well, I mean... no... I guess everybody dies one day."

He keeps his eyes to the ground as he continues forward. "It's only fair."

"Death as the ultimate equalizer?" I laugh for no reason at all. I  _am_  awkward. 

He doesn't notice the strain in my voice. "Is it, though? I'm not afraid of dying. It's some unknown worse that I fear."

"But you don't even know what it is."

He smiles a soft, sad smile. "I'm afraid I'll find out."

I want to ask him what he means. But before I can, I hear someone scream. It's a desperate plea. "Heeeeelllllppp!" he screams again.

I spin around to see what terror has followed in our wake. My eyes focus in time to see Achilles' spear strike the zombie running after the screaming man. We rush over towards them.

"No, no, no, no, no, no!!" the stranger mumbles as he scrambles away from the pinned walker.

Achilles quickly decapitates it and pulls his spear free. The corpse crumples on the ground.

I crouch beside the stranger still shaking in fear. 

"It's alright," I say. I look him over. He looks fine. Traumatized, but fine.

"No, no, it got me! Just now, it scratched me!" He extends his arm and I see the marks down his arm-- jagged grooves shimmering red with blood. The skin around the marks have already purpled. I've seen this before. I've seen the bacteria or parasite or virus or whatever it is slowly make its way into the blood. But this doesn't look so bad. 

Achilles is already beside me. I recognize the look in his eyes-- cold and distant. He'll kill him. And he'd be right to. But I don't want him to. I don't want him to  _have_  to. I reach up and take his knife. He lets me, though his eyes are rounded in surprise as I raise the knife above the man's arm.

To be honest, I have no idea what I'm doing. I've never amputated anything. I'm a pediatrician for crying out loud. But I did it on a dummy once in school and my friends who did a summer in Papua New Guinea told me all about the amputations they did there. I'll figure it out. 

But this is a bowie knife. And we're in a field. Also my hands are filthy.

The man screams as I hack into his arm. The knife is sharp and I feel the bone crack under the first blow. But it doesn't go through. I hesitate. But Achilles takes the knife from me and finishes the job.

The arm falls limp to the ground and the man is panting and screaming and writhing under our hands. Achilles looks up at me, as if to say 'what now?'

His cool, green eyes ground me and I study the stump of an arm. The nerves and vessels are dangling, almost shivering in the air. It's familiar to me. I know this. I tie off the vessels. They're so fucking slippery and I can't shake the feeling that this man's gonna get an infection the size of Kansas from my filthy hands. But I guess we can look for some antibiotics later. I need to stitch him up, but we've got no sutures and no staples. I pull my shirt off and tear it up. This'll do for now. We just need to cover it.

The whole thing takes maybe less than three minutes. It's not beautiful and if I'd done this in the hospital I'd have been fired. And probably sued. But the hospital doesn't exist anymore and this was the best I could do. I sit back and wipe my hands against the grass. The man is panting and sweating, groaning softly as he stares at his discarded arm.

Achilles looks at me. _Is this going to work?_  he asks silently.

 _I have no idea._  I shrug. 

The three of us sit silently. Seconds turn to minutes. 

"We should keep moving," Achilles finally says to me. 

"Oh, right." I stand and look at the stranger. I wonder if he will join us.

"Thank you," the stranger finally says. He stands shakily and extends his remaining hand to me. "Whatever happens, thank you." 

I shake his hand, unsure what to say. 

He turns to Achilles. "And you, Achilles. Thank you. Truly you are Aristos Achaion."

_Aristos Achaion?_

I see Achilles' jaw flex. He hesitates before he shakes the man's hand. 

"My name is Antenor. If I survive this, I'll never forget that owe you both my life," he says softly.

Achilles nods and I stare. We're still standing as Antenor turns and walks away. He walks slowly-- he's lost a lot of blood, but his steps are sturdy and strong.

"You know him?" I ask, once Antenor disappears into the trees. 

Achilles shakes his head. "Never seen him before." 

"How'd he know you?"

"All the Trojans know me," he shrugs. "Agamemnon made sure of that."

There it is again -- _Trojan_.  

"What are the Trojans?"

He turns to me as we walk. His eyes fall down to my hands, covered in dried blood. I feel his gaze move up my bare chest and onto my face. He smiles. "You are surprising," he says softly.

I catch myself frowning.

He laughs. "The Trojans are my enemy. Or... I guess Agamemnon's enemy," he sighs and turns back to the road before us. "It's politics, Patroclus. The most wicked game men have ever played. And in this game, the Acheans hate the Trojans and the Trojans hate the Acheans. I've never much cared for it-- the Trojans have never done anything to me. But I suppose they can't say the same of me-- I've killed more of them than I can count. It was never personal. Just orders."

He says it almost monotonously. But his words are heavy and his shoulder slump as he walks on. 

Something more sinister than zombies, he'd mentioned. Humans. Politics. 

Then, suddenly, he lobs his arm over my shoulders and pulls me close. He's warm and soft against my bare skin. I'm electrified. Awake. This is more than familiar. I know this.

He laughs and sighs as we continue walking. "Patroclus," he says with a sigh. "I like you already. I hope you'll say with us. Despite the madness."

"I'll stay with you," I say.

His steps slow down. His eyes are serious and I see him weighing my words. I'd said them quickly, but I meant them.

"You don't know me," he says quietly.

It's true. "But I want to. I'll stay with you," I repeat. "If you'll have me."

He smiles and drops his head. We're standing still, swaying under each others' weight. "Like I said, you are surprising," he whispers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i placed this in the Bay Area... but then I added a river... i don't even know. let's pretend there's a river. i'm making all this up anyway...?  
> 


	3. he is here

_Pa-tro-clus_.

He calls to me in my dream. But when I wake, he is not there. He is not here. I sit up in my sleeping bag and glance around the tent. 

He is not here.

It has been three months since I joined the camp of the Acheans. Three months since I followed Achilles through the five walls protecting this secret city. Three months since he vouched for me before Agamemnon, drawing the ire of the "king." And three months since he tossed this extra sleeping bag onto the sand beside his own and told me he'd help me set up a new tent in the morning. 

He forgot to grab supplies for a new tent in the morning. And I forgot to remind him. For two weeks. 

"We could just put up a curtain in here, if you'd like," he offered one night as we lay side by side staring up at the stars through the clear tarp ceiling.

"I don't need one if you don't mind." I'd grown bold and comfortable in his company.

He turned his head towards me and smiled. "I don't mind."

"Cool," I smiled back. I quickly returned my eyes to the stars far above, but I felt his gaze hot on the side of my face. 

Sometimes I wonder if he knows about me. If he's noticed the secret glances I steal of him when I think he is not looking. There is something about him that pulls me in. He is handsome, yes. But there's something more. He is everything soft and beautiful and bright. And more. He inspires confidence and peace. I see it, as do the others. He is loved. By the children in the city, by the men and women he's saved, by his brothers in arms, and even his commanders-- save for Agamemnon, who seems to harbor a tolerant disdain for his every breath.  

King Agamemnon. 

The title of "King" was a joke-- Agamemnon's first name is Kingston. But he seems to like it, and he bristles and shouts orders as if he was a king. And the people follow-- even Achilles. Even when the mission is to blow up a Trojan hospital.

"It's just easier this way," Achilles explained to me when I stared at him, appalled, after he explained what he had been doing the day he found me. He spoke evenly and calmly, though half-heartedly. "Agamemnon makes the decisions. I follow orders."

"But you don't have to. You didn’t have to…"

"Maybe I do."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed as he pushed his shovel deep into the ground. We were tending the gardens that day. It was warmer than usual and his face was damp with sweat, but still radiant. 

"I just have this feeling like... I don't know." He scoffed and shook his head. He looked up at me, biting down on his lower lip. "I used to have this dream-- a recurring dream-- I can never remember the details but it's a distinct feeling of regret and despair." He sighed.

I had never yet, nor since, seen such hesitation on his face. 

"In the dream, I... I refused to follow commands," he said quickly, "I had some sort of grudge or point to prove and I just... I defied orders. And I wasn't reprimanded for it but... something happened. I always wake up from the dream in a cold sweat and with a throbbing headache. It's always the same. And I'm left feeling that I'd rather be dead than make a mistake like that again."

I had noticed that he was superstitious, but I had not realized to what degree.

"It's just a dream," I said softly.

He shook his head. "What if it isn't?"

"What else could it be?"

He looked up at me with a small, incredulous smile. "A memory."

He was like this-- unabashedly honest. I would never have admitted such thoughts to a stranger. What if they thought I was insane? Or stupid? 

"So that's why you always follow orders?" I asked quietly. 

He shrugged. "For now."

And he always followed orders. Out on runs, inner city assignments, council meetings, watch tower rotations... his services to the king and the city were endless. And he never complained or protested. 

Except once. 

When he brought me before the council on my first night in the city and told them where he'd found me, Agamemnon sat quietly. Then when Achilles explained I'd stay with him until I found quarters in the city, Agamemnon smiled and pointed out that the council had not yet authorized me to stay. 

I remember that smug look of sour satisfaction settle on the King’s fat, round face. I looked up at Achilles, and though he remained still, I saw the briefest glimmer of surprise in his eyes. He has not expected any resistance. 

"When will the council decide?" Achilles asked softly.

"It's just that we're at capacity, Achilles," the king said, his voice oily and thick. Taunting.

I felt myself blush. _Of course_ , I thought, how could I have been so foolish as to think these strangers would let me stay. Everyone kept to themselves these days. I opened my mouth to speak-- to apologize-- when I saw Achilles move. 

He twitched. The tendons on the side of his jaw tensed; his grip around his spear tightened; his eyes narrowed as he considered.

"I had not realized," he said quietly.

I noticed a few of the other people in the room shift in their seats uncomfortably.

"I cannot imagine that one more person would strain our resources. Patroclus is also a doctor, he may prove useful. Would the council be willing to make an... exception."

I had known him for only about thirty hours, but I could see how this strained him. It was not usual for him to do this-- to request something like this.

Agamemnon smiled and leaned forward in his seat. "No." His mouth moved slowly and his voice ran clear across the silent tent. _No._

 _That's fine, I'll be fine_ , I wanted to say. _I'll go._

"He can have my spot, then," Achilles suddenly said.

"What?"

"I will leave, he should stay."

_What?_

"Why the hell would I let him stay if you go?" Agamemnon barked. He had not expected this.

"It's my decision. I would rather him stay and I go. He is injured, in no condition to live out there." 

 _What?_ I remember how my mind reeled. Why would he offer this to me? To a stranger?

Agamemnon scoffed. "No!"

"Then if he goes, I go."

Achilles stood still, staring Agamemnon in the face.

"Let's not be brash," another council member interjected. Phoenix. Older, a little worse for wear, but his voice was soothing.

"I'm sure we can afford to keep just one more person. Especially someone so... important to Achilles. I would vote to make an exception."

The others mumbled to each other.

"I as well."

"Me too."

"Aye."

"Agreed."

"Sure."

"It would be good to have another doctor."

"He is important to Achilles."

Soon the entire ring of elders were in agreement, save Agamemnon.

We stood, silent.

"Fine!" Agamemnon roared. He slouched into his chair. "The council has spoken. Get out."

Achilles nodded and turned around. He took my wrist without a word and gently pulled me towards the door. I followed as gracefully as I could, stumbling only once on my bad ankle.

We walked quietly through the city until we reached his tent on the shore. He slept away from the city. It did not surprise me, for some reason.

"Why did you do that?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you... You didn't have to... I don't want them to get mad at you because of me."

He looked up from his gear he had just set on the ground and smiled at me. "I wanted to."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Just... I feel like... you'd be a good partner."

_Partner?_

"I'm not... really good at anything."

He laughed. "Sure you are. You handled yourself well out there. I dunno," he shrugged again, "just a gut feeling I guess. I like you."

_I like you._

And then he tossed that sleeping bag onto the ground and led me on a tour of the city. I followed closely in his footsteps, as I have done everyday since.  

We've lived together for the past three months in this tent at the edge of the city walled in from the world. It is quiet out by the water and never too cold nor too warm. It is perfect. And as I’ve come to know him, he is perfect.

But, right now, he is not here. The tent is empty and cold. The world, as I have known it for three months, is dark.

Achilles. I would never leave him… but, perhaps he has left me.

He is often awake before dawn. On my more restless nights, I sometimes see him sit up in the dark, staring into something I cannot see. He sits and stares until I fall asleep again. Then in the morning I find him knee deep in the waves, watching the sun slowly rise.

I step out of our tent and squint into the darkness, searching for him on the shore. I have no right to know where he is and he has no obligation to share his time with me. But for the past three months, we have spent more time together than apart. Sometimes I feel as if I am... as if he is...

_He is half of my soul..._

Ridiculous, I know.

I see him.

He is sitting, his chin resting on his knees, his fingers buried shallow beneath the sand. His eyes are closed. 

I walk over slowly, as quietly as I can. I hesitate half way-- perhaps I should leave him to his peace.

"You're up early," he says, he hasn't moved and I can see his eyes still closed.

He slowly turns towards me, blinking in the pale moonlight. He smiles and gestures for me to come nearer. I rush towards him and settle into the sand. I feel him warm beside me and all the darkness and coldness of the world around me seems to fade away.

"I couldn't sleep," he says.

I nod. "Maybe just sleep in tomorrow?" 

But he shakes his head. "Got a run."

"Oh." A run. He has not had to leave the city in three months. But I knew he would have to eventually. He is a soldier. A fighter. A killer.

"What kind of a run?"

He pushes his hands into the sand behind himself and leans back. "Reconnaissance."

"Reconnaissance?"

"The Trojans are moving. We can't tell what they're doing but they're moving down into the South Bay and Agamemnon's worried."

The Trojans. We are at war with the Trojans. A war for supplies and territory, fueled by mysterious foreign powers seeking to obtain a hold on the west coast once the outbreak is controlled. I don't know much, but I've learned that it is a different kind of war-- one with no rules. 

"Is there a team going out with you?"

"No. I'm planning on just sneaking around for a while. Then blowing up a building or two before I head back up."

I'm speechless. 

He turns to me and grins widely. "I'm just kidding. Mostly." He shrugs, "it's just me. It's always just me. Ajax has been busy on the supply runs for the past couple months. Odysseus is better for planning the larger assaults. There aren't enough for us to spare on a small mission like this. I'm quick," he smiles before he turns back to face the sea. "I've always been quick. Aristos Achaion,” he whispers.

_The greatest of the Greeks._

"How long will you be out?" My throat feels dry.

He shrugs. "Long as it takes, I guess." 

_Long as it takes._

I drop my chin onto my knees. I do not want him to go. But there's nothing I can do about it. His orders have been issued. His course is set. 

As is mine.

He stands slowly and stretches. “Well, I guess I should get some sleep in before the sun comes up. Sorry for waking you. You gonna sit out for a while longer?”

I push my hands deeper into the sand. The grains are smooth and cold between my fingers. “No. It’s a bit too cold,” I say as I push myself up.

He smiles and nods. I follow him across the sand and back into our tent. And when he curls onto his side, burrowed deep into his sleeping bag, I roll onto my side, pulling my bag tight around my shoulders. I see him beside me. He is still and calm. He is here.

And as my eyes grow heavy and my mind slips into sleep, I think to myself, _it will be this, always, for as long as he will let me._


	4. i have found you

Luck has never been on my side. And the life that I had always so carefully planned for has always evaded my grasp. Had I foreseen that our world would be overcome by the zombie apocalypse, I likely would not have spent my youth studying so hard to become a doctor. Similarly, had I foreseen that Achilles would sneak out of our tent before dawn, I likely would not have let myself go back to sleep.

He was gone before I woke. Dammit. 

I rushed out of the camp as quickly as I could, ignoring the sentries who tried to stop me. All I knew was that he was headed to the South Bay, so I ran south. Through the mountains and the trees, until I hit the old highway leading into the cities.

So here I am, wandering through these abandoned cars, exposed on this open terrain. I had not thought this through. Moreover, I am lost. I don’t know my way back to the Camp.

Bad luck.

But maybe this is fate. _My_ fate.

Shit. Walkers. Just two that I can see.

I consider hiding—ducking under one of these many cars and waiting for them to pass. But I’m angry and more than just a little reckless so I charge at them. Achilles has taught me to fight and I brought my favorite machete. It has been three months since I’ve seen a zombie.

It is easy. These are old and weak. They go down under my blade and I’m breathing only a little harder than I was before. But as I step over their now still bodies, my heart sinks. _It will be this_. I am alone again. And suddenly I am crying.

But I go on.

Three more zombies. One more zombie. Another two. And one. And five this time, which is harder because I am getting tired.

I don’t know how long it is before I walk away from the smooth, paved highway, but I’m sweating and tired when my feet sink into the dirt and my skin is glad to be free from the sun. I let myself think back on the past three months. 

I remember the morning I woke up looking into Achilles’ face lying just inches from mine. He was studying my face, his expression still as stone as his eyes moved slowly over my own. I held my breath and waited for him to move or speak. He blinked slowly and smiled as he rolled onto his back.

I remember the time we were tending the fig trees in the orchards. He picked off three figs and instead of dropping them into the basket, he began to juggle. He watched me following his hands and teased that my eyes moved like a cat’s. Then he said to me softly, but clearly, “catch.” And a single fig flew from his hands into my palms, still warm from his touch. He took a bite into one of the figs and nodded to me. “Try it, they’re sweet.” I bit into the soft, pink fleshy fruit and thought that maybe there had been a time I had loved figs. 

I remember the way he played the guitar at night, when we sat alone along the shore. He held it so gently in his hands and as he sang and plucked those soft, nylon strings, it was so easy to forget the world beyond the camp. _You are not a killer_ , I had thought to myself. _This world may have made you into a weapon, but you are not a killer. You are everything soft and bright and beautiful_ , I had wanted to say to him. 

And I wonder what he would have said in return. If I had said to him all those things I had started to feel. Perhaps he would have recoiled in disgust. Perhaps he would have scoffed and shrugged. Perhaps he would have said nothing and changed nothing—remaining coolheaded and calm as he always was.

But now I will never know. I have lost him.

My mind jolts back into the present when I hear the sound of metal against wood. The trees are silent and still. No shuffling of clumsy, undead feet. No moaning and groaning of starving zombie throats. No putrid, sour smell of decaying flesh. There are no walkers here. And yet, there is something. Something more sinister than zombies, perhaps. 

My heart is pounding in my chest, deafening in my ears as a I strain against the silence for that too-human precise sound of metal against wood.

“Patroclus?” 

I spin around towards the voice. I do not recognize it.

“Shit.” It speaks again. It’s a girl. “Patroclus!”

Leaves and branches crunch as a stranger steps forward from behind a tree. I lift my weapon up towards her and she pauses, her hands lifted in surrender.

“Patroclus. It’s me, Briseis!” she laughs. 

I lower my machete. Briseis? She walks towards me slowly, laughing and shaking her head. She is dressed like a soldier, but for the backwards baseball cap over her dark, curly hair. Her smile is the same. Brilliant, inviting, charming.

“Briseis?”

“Shit, Patroclus,” she repeats incredulously, “Where have you been? You look… pretty good, actually,” she says with a shrug, looking me quickly up and down.

“What’re you doing sneaking around here?” I’m relieved, but not entirely.

“We’re just moving through.”

“We?”

“Yeah, uh,” she whistles and waves her arms. Slowly a group of six others emerge from the trees and undergrowth. “We’re with a camp up north. We’re just headed down south looking for supplies and stuff.”

“South? Like, South Bay south?”

“Sure, round abouts.”

“Hey, can I maybe join you guys? I’m headed that way too.” I’m suddenly eager. It would be safer to move with a group. And her group looks ready for combat.

“Hey, this isn’t a field trip,” a stranger interjects.

I scowl at him. Briseis lifts an eyebrow at me and smiles. I realize how much I must have changed in her eyes.

“Uh, well, I don’t know. Why are you going down south anyway?”

“I'm just…” a gnawing feeling in my gut keeps me from telling him the truth. “I’ve been all San Francisco and the peninsula. I’m just curious about what’s left down south, I guess.” I say it as cavalierly as I can.

The group stare at me and I wonder if they’ve seen through my lie. But Briseis bursts out laughing and pulls me into a hug. “Damn, Patroclus. You’re legit insane, huh?” She turns to the others with her arm still around my shoulders. “I went to college with Patroclus. He helped me out in a tight spot when I found myself in a bad place at a party. I never thought I’d get a chance to pay back the favor, but… ah, what do you say, boys? Just till we get to Moffet Field?”

The group begins to smile and even the stranger who’d objected before shrugs. Why not? Sure. Whatever. Just till Moffet Field. They all concede. And so Briseis pulls me up beside her and we walk through the trees together. They are experienced and move seamlessly as a unit.

“So where have you been hiding out all this time?” she asks me quietly as we walk.

“Uh, here and there. Mostly the residential homes in the suburbs. Fewer walkers out there.” It’s almost true—it’s where I had been staying before I met Achilles.

“Ah yeah, that’s good thinking.”

It’s quiet again and I can’t shake the uneasy feeling that we’re being followed. I check behind me and the group is alert. Surely they would notice if there was anything near.

“You know how to use that thing anyway?”

“Huh?”

“Your machete. You seemed ready enough to take my head off with it earlier,” she laughs.

She had always laughed easily, and more than a small part of me is happy to hear that same light laughter again. It reminds me of better times—times when all I had to worry about was my next exam.

“I can use it okay. It’s easy enough when the enemy is mostly dead,” I smile and shrug. “I guess joining the military paid off for you?”

She shrugs. “It was shitty. But yeah, I guess it’s paid off now. I’m alive… for what it’s worth.” Her voice is heavy and soft. I remember when she told me she was enlisting, when she told me she was sick of getting pushed around and wanted the world to know she could be just as tough as the next guy. I hadn’t heard from her after she left for basic training. 

“It’s worth a lot,” I whisper and nudge her softly as we walk.

She smiles. “Still old Patroclus, huh? You always know what to say.” 

I feel myself flush and move minutely to the side.

We continue through the trees quietly until the sun sets. We spend the remainder of the light setting up camp with a series of traps and triggers before we hoist ourselves up into the trees to sleep. There are no extra packs, so Briseis offers to share with me. I try to refuse but she waits for me to near.

“Hurry the fuck up, Patroclus,” she hisses.

“No, I’m alright, I’ll just zip my sweater up.”

She rolls her eyes. “If you fall out of this tree, we’re all going to be screwed. So why don’t you just stop being a bitch and get in so I can get some sleep?”

She stares at me until I feel my resolve melt. I’m already cold anyway and she has a good point about potentially falling out of the tree. I shuffle towards her and step into the sleeping bag. It’s more than enough space—she had always been so small—but I creep to the edge, trying to give her more room.

“For Christ’s sake, you’re letting all the cold air in,” she groans. “Hold still. I’m not going to try and make a move on you, Patroclus. I remember, you know…”

I glance at her and stop moving. She kicks to straighten the sack and pulls it closed below her chin. She sighs and closes her eyes. “You’re still as fidgety as ever,” she grins.

It was our junior year when she kissed me. It was such a soft kiss. Tender, patient, perfect. Except that I was gay. And she was my best friend. Maybe I could have handled it better, but I was 21 and didn’t know what to say. So she was the one who apologized and let me pretend that it had never happened.

“Hey, Briseis,” I whisper to her.

She opens her eyes and turns to me. 

“Thanks… thanks for letting me tag along.”

She smiles. “You saved me first.”

I laugh softly. I’m about to turn back when I feel my lips part again. “You were my best friend... and I loved you… more than anyone else really… it’s just…” But my words dry up and I’m left blinking into the dark.

She slowly reaches up out of the sleeping bag for my face. She smiles and pushes my hair out of my eyes. “I hope that hasn’t changed,” she whispers.

So much has changed, we both know. But maybe some things, things like friendships and love, could remain the same even lifetimes apart. I’m about to tell her that I hope the same, but the traps below go off and we bolt up, reaching for our weapons.

But as we sit, perched on the low branch of our tree, we know something is wrong. The traps are triggered, one after another as if there is a hoard passing by, and yet the air is still. There are no other sounds.

Troilus hisses at us and motions that he wants to jump down. Briseis nods and I watch as he lands. Seconds pass like hours until he returns and shrugs. Briseis and I jump down from our branch and look around.

“Fuck was that?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Troilus shrugs. “The wind?”

It’s a joke, but no one laughs. Again, I feel the hair on my neck stand on end and I turn around, looking for the eyes burning a hole through my skull. There is no one there.

“Well let’s just reset the traps and try to get some sleep.”

I’m almost at the traps near the south end of camp when he gets me. He is swift and silent and the only sound I hear is my machete hitting the ground. I’m spun around and pushed against a tree, my lips pressed shut against this stranger’s soft, warm palm. I struggle and my muffled groan echoes in my skull.

“Patroclus?” I hear Briseis in the distance. I struggle harder.

He leans in towards me.

Achilles.

I freeze. 

Achilles.

I hold my breath.

“Patroclus!”

She has found my machete.

Achilles looks into my eyes and slowly lowers his hand. I bite my lip. He takes my wrist and leads me into the darkness. Away from the traps. Away from Briseis. He moves swiftly through the trees. Like the wind.

His grip is firm until he stops and then all I feel is the coldness of where his hand no longer is. I am left panting and gasping for air as he stands before me, his back still turned.

“How did you find me?” I finally manage to ask.

He is still at first. Then he turns around. “With a group like that it’s a miracle all the walkers on the peninsula hadn’t found you.”

He is angry. It is a cold, seething anger.

“Or perhaps you wouldn’t have cared? Should I have left you with them? With her?”

I am confused. I have never seen him like this.

Finally, he relents. I see his shoulders drop and he rubs his hands over his face. It is a gesture so normal. So human. And yet, it seems so foreign on him.

“She was my friend… before all this… when we were in college," I say quietly.

He nods. His anger has passed. He turns around and his face is changed. He looks tired. Defeated. He sighs, “they are Trojans. If they found out you’d been with… me…” he waves his hand in the air, unwilling to finish. It is the first time I have seen him uncertain of his words. Uncertain of himself. 

“Ah, I see.”

“I’m sorry.” He turns again and begins to walk forward.

“Don’t be,” I say, running to catch up with him. “I came out to find you, anyway.”

He smiles a quick, superficial smile. We continue on in silence until he sighs again.

“You seemed so familiar to me,” he says, barely above a whisper. There is agony in his voice. “I had thought…” but he shakes his head. “I am sorry to have come between you.”

“Huh? Between who?”

“You and the girl,” he says, his voice still heavy.

“Huh?” _The girl? Between me and the girl?_

I stop in my tracks as my brain slowly shifts to put these pieces together and I find myself laughing to myself. “No, no, no, no, no,” I mutter as I run up to Achilles. “She’s not… she’s just… she was my best _friend_. I’m not… I’m… Wait, stop, please—” I reach out and take his arm, pulling him to a stop.

He looks at me, his cool, green eyes still and patient. His face is tired in a way I’d never seen it before and the light in his eyes is dimmed. Just hours ago I had thought I’d never see his face again. I thought I’d lost him forever. I was ready to die just to see him once more. _It will be this._

I lean forward and kiss him.

His lips are soft and plush. They part just slightly from surprise.

When I pull away, I see him blinking at me and I realize what I have done.

I gape at him and shake my head. “I’m so sorry,” I mumble. I am not, in truth. I would do it again if only he’d let me. And a thousand times over. Again and again and again. “I didn’t… I… I wasn’t thinking. Oh god, I’m so sor—”

But he’s pulled me in, one hand around the back of my neck, the other around my waist and he’s kissing me. He kisses me again and again. His lips against mine, parting and pulling and teasing my tongue with his. He pulls away for just a moment and kisses my face—the hollow below my cheek and down my jaw before he finds his way back to my lips. And he kisses me. Again, and again, and again. I am breathless and weightless, lost in this euphoria.

“Patroclus,” he whispers finally, his forehead pressed to mine. “Patroclus.”

And suddenly I feel a familiarity so strong it overwhelms me and tears are streaming down my face. _I know this_.

I conjure a boy I once knew. Achilles. He is grinning as figs blur in his hands. _Catch_. His green eyes are laughing into mine. _I feel like I could eat the world raw._ He is hanging from a branch over the river, the thick warmth of his sleepy breath against my ear. _And this and this and this._

The memories come, and come. 

“I have found you, Patroclus. I have found you.”


	5. as we were

I suppose I will never know what Briseis thought of my abandoned machete. If she thought I was taken by a mysteriously stealthy walker or if she thought I was a spy who’d arrived and left like the wind that had triggered the traps. I hope she is safe.

Achilles and I ran through the trees until we found an abandoned cabin that he cleared quickly and easily. We lost ourselves in each others’ arms in that dark, dusty hut. He knew me and I knew him in some way we had forgotten. It was too much to stop and question everything that I felt. It was enough to know he felt it too.

More memories came in my dreams. Memories of the white sand we had spent so many afternoons on. Memories of honey drizzled bread and figs and olive pits; the smell of the sea in his bedroom; the shade of the trees in the courtyard; and the mountain, Pelion, the pink rose quartz cave.

But it is daytime now and we are walking silently through the trees. He is just an arm’s length away from me, leading me, guiding me, just as he had some lifetime ago.

He turns around and the glimmer in his eyes startles me. I fail to stifle the laughter that slips past my lips. He grins.

“You’ll get us both killed at this rate,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry. I cannot help it. I’ve never felt…” but I don’t know how to describe what it is that I feel.

He smiles and waits for me to near. He slips his fingers through mine and leads me forward. The soft pads of his fingers are warm and plush against my hand. It is familiar.

“What do you remember?” he asks.

I let myself think through the images jumbled in mind. “Your feet,” I laugh softly. “Your pink soled feet as you ran from me after I kissed you for the first time. The fastest boy in the world, running from me.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I was sure my mother had seen. I am sorry.”

“Ah, your mother.” 

“My mother,” he says softly.

“The goddess.”

Thetis. I remember her long, black hair against her impossibly pale, luminous skin. I remember her voice, harsh and rasping like the sound of grinding stones in the surf. And I remember her eyes, black to their center and flecked with gold. I remember how she hated me. _He will be a god_ , she had said.

“Is she here?” I ask. _Of course not_ , I immediately think. But I wonder. _It would not be so strange, given_ this _._

“I don’t know.”

“Are you… a god?”

He laughs this time. “Definitely not, I think.” He pulls the collar of his shirt down to expose a smooth, white scar. “I know you’ve wondered about this. Afghanistan. Shot through the shoulder. Surely gods do not bleed?”

I had wondered. I’d stolen glimpses of it when he bathed. I had always thought he had not noticed. But of course he had. 

And then it hits me, fast and sharp—the prophesy that he would die. And for a moment it does not feel like a memory. I lose my breath and my step, but he catches me and lifts me into his arms. He smiles and I see his eyes, green with flecks of gold, just like his immortal goddess mother. 

“I remember the prophesy,” I whisper.

His lips curl up into a half smile, but his eyes are melancholy.

“I do not remember if it was fulfilled. If you… Did you…” 

He looks away. “Does it matter? We are here now. As we were before.” He reaches for my face with his right hand. He runs his fingertips down my jaw.

As we were before.

“What do _you_ remember?” I ask softly. I wonder if it will be the warm sunshine of Pithia or the lush forests of Pelion. Perhaps the feeling of the strings of the lyre against his fingers, or the smell of the pomegranate and sandalwood he’d always worn on his heels.

His eyes move down my face.

“This,” he says, his thumb on my chin. “Though your face is wider than it once was,” he grins. “And this,” he drops his hand to the vee at the base of my throat, “I remember how I loved this.” He pauses, “do you remember when I told you?”

His eyes are steady and his face is still. The world around me is silent but for my pulse pounding against his thumb.

“I do,” I whisper.

“What about this?” he asks, reaching up for my head, just behind my ear. “Your hair never quite lies flat, here. Remember? I have always liked it. Even when…” his voice falters for just a moment, “…when I was not sure if it was just a figment of my imagination.”

 _I remember_ , I want to say, but my voice is lost. I am left staring into his face, watching him struggle against a flood of emotion. He blinks slowly and silent tears spill down his face. 

“I did not know if it was real,” he whispers. “But I felt as if there was more than… this life…” his words are slow and heavy. “It taunted me. Every dream and half memory—like a promise I would never see fulfilled. I remembered how I felt with you, Patroclus…”

_Pa-tro-clus._

“I remembered how I felt… as if… I could…”

“Eat the world raw,” I whisper.

He looks up at me, blinking in disbelief. He nears me and takes my face in his palms.

“But they never let you be famous _and_ happy, do they?” he murmurs.

He breaks away and leans against a thin birch tree. “The prophesy was fulfilled.”

"Then... in Troy... you..." but I cannot bring myself to say the word. Impossible. He is standing here before me-- strong and beautiful. Alive.  
  
He looks up at with a small, sardonic smile. His eyes are dark. _Yes_ , he is saying. _Yes, I died._  
  
"How?"  
  
"As all mortal men do." He is just a few feet from me, his arms around that thin, pale birch tree, but he feels a world apart.

 _Do not leave me._  
  
_Hector_. His name forms in my mind like smoke rising slowly from embers.  
  
"But why? Why did you kill Hector?" I am pleading with him, as if I could persuade him to undo the past.  
  
_What has Hector ever done to me?_ I remember how that had become his mantra-- our secret joke. So why? He knew what would happen if he killed Hector.  
  
"Why?" He breathes it out-- an incredulous whisper, desperate and angry. "You don't remember?"  
  
I try, but I cannot. I shake my head.  
  
He comes towards me, slowly. His arms limp at his sides until he is before me. And then he reaches up for my face and whispers, "because I blamed him for killing you."  
  
Killing me? I do not remember that.  
  
"But it was my fault," he continues, "You went out only because I refused. You went out to save the Greeks. To save... my honor..." The words come out, choked. "If I had fought-- like I was born to, you would not have..."  
  
And then I remember. I remember the fear I felt for his reputation and glory and... honor. I remember the coolness of his armor against my skin and the uneven ground beneath the chariot wheels. I remember the weight of the spears as I threw them into men. I remember how they fell. And how I felt like a god.  
  
I am suddenly clutching at my gut as I remember the pain. The sticky, warmth of my own blood. And the thought that I must not die-- Hector cannot kill me. It cannot be Hector... because if it is Hector, then Achilles...  
  
But he is before now. Warm and strong and alive.  
  
He drops onto his knees, his face pressed into my stomach, just below my hands still gripping the spot I had imagined soaked through with blood.  
  
"I am sorry, Patroclus," he says into my body, "I am so sorry."  
  
His tears soak into my shirt-- warm then cold against my skin.  
  
"It was my fault. My fault... I am so sorry. I..."  
  
I slide my hands into his hair.  
  
"It was not your fault. It was fate. I am sorry I left you..."  
  
I remember his agony. The way he mourned me. His slippery tears against my cold skin. The sound of his screaming, like his soul torn from his body.  
  
He holds me tight until I pull him up. When I kiss him, his lips are wet and salty from his tears. _Do not be sad_ , I want to say. _We are here now. For whatever reason, by whatever magic, we are here._  
  
He kisses me back, softly and gently. It is different from the night before, different from this morning. It is sweeter and sadder and more precious because we know what we had lost.  
  
"I can't lose you again," he whispers to me when he pulls away.  
  
And then I remember. "Is that why you always follow orders?"  
  
He grins, tired but honest. "I don't remember exactly what happened in Troy. But I know it happened because I refused to fight. If I had killed Hector first..." He shakes his head, "I was born to fight. I am a weapon, I know. I'm made to be used and--"  
  
"No," I stop him. "You are so much more." I hesitate but continue, because I cannot let this life slip by without him knowing. Not again. "You are all things soft and beautiful and bright. You are my greatest joy. My closest friend. My love. My life... You are so much more than just what you can do... Achilles... You are so much..."  
  
I've lost my breath. It is overwhelming. I had not known I had been waiting for him all this time. Wandering and waiting.  
  
But he suddenly stiffens, his muscles alert and his eyes wide. I fall silent, holding my breath. He looks to his left and I know we are not alone. He smiles and takes my hand, guiding me silently away. We run down to the creek and cross it, moving like ghosts though the trees. When we finally slow, he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it.  
  
"I will not lose you again, Patroclus."  
  
I feel my face flush. It is enough to know he means it. It is enough to have him here with me.

 


	6. Cassandra

The world is as it was before-- deadly and dead. But with him, it is somehow beautiful. I'm not afraid. I'm not worried about what will hear us. I'm not afraid of what will see us. I only care about the brightness of his laughter and the softness of his palms.

He guides us carefully though the trees until we reach the wide open spaces in the southern cities. I suspect we could have gotten there faster, but I didn't mind his meandering route. Every moment was precious, and in the lush green of the trees, I could forget what we were running from.

But now we are in the open. It's an open lot with warehouses and giant freight containers. Skeletons of a once productive world.

Achilles crouches behind the remains of planter. Wild roses are growing over its edges and the stone is littered with bullet holes.

"There," he points to the far most left building. "They're in there."

"How do you know?"

"All the doors are closed," he smiles at me.

He's right, of course. I see the broken and half opened doors on all the other structures. That building alone is closed. Protected.

"Wait here," he says, rising from his knees.

I take hold of his wrist. "No. I'm going with you."

He looks at me, considering. I see his eyes moving quickly over my face. I see him imagining what could happen either way. He tightens his grip around the spear he's brought and he nods. "Stay close."

He's fast. It makes me smile because I remember how fast he had always been. I remember the soft soles of his pink feet on soft sand and wet shores. Some things, then, have not changed.

He pushes a door and waits.  
"It's a trap," he whispers to me.

"Should we leave?"

He shakes his head. "If they wanted to kill us, they already would have."

And with that, he steps into the doorway. He tosses his spear onto the open floor of the warehouse. "We're unarmed."

I follow him in.

It's quiet, but I can feel the tension of unseen bodies waiting to step forward. Achilles walks with his hands above his shoulders into the center of the space.

"Ariston Acheon," a voice calls out.

We turn around.

She is standing on top of a pyramid of packing crates, smiling and shaking her head. Blonde ringlets bounce from side to side and the sun catches the blue of her eyes. 

"I think it's a bit unfair to say you're unarmed, Achilles," she says with a grin. " _You_ are a weapon."

Achilles' eyebrows lift and I know he does not recognize her. Neither do I.

"Relax. You can put your hands down." She sits at the edge of the crate and swings her legs off the side. She whistles and people emerge from all the hidden spaces.

"So you've been sent here to..." she raises an eyebrow, "spy on the Trojans?"

"Investigate," Achilles corrects.

"Uh-huh. And after you completed your investigation?"

"Return to camp."

"Uh-huh," she says again. She juts out her jaw thoughtfully. Her eyes shift to mine. It's alarming and I lose my breath. There's gold in her eyes that glows like fire.

"Patroclus," she says with a smile.

Achilles turns to me.

I'm surprised. "Have we met?"

She laughs. "In a past life. Though I'm not surprised you don't remember. I was the one you overlooked. The one you let go when you chose Briseis."

My mind is spinning. Chose Briseis.

And I remember. But I don't remember her-- this girl with the blue and gold eyes that burn like the sun.

"Cassandra," she says slowly. It's a hiss and it stings against my ears.

"I'm sorry..." I offer. And I mean it, both because I cannot remember and because I could not save her.

"It was a lifetime ago," she shrugs with a smile. It's an eerie, disarming smile. Sincere and manic all at once. "But look at us now, reunited! And look at you two! Reunited!" She claps her hands together and squirms gleefully from her perch on the crates. She sighs happily.

But her eyes suddenly go dark and her eyes settle menacingly on Achilles. _Stop it_ , I want to shout. But I'm stuck.

"You've picked the wrong side, Achilles," she says. "You're fighting for the wrong man. You know that, don't you?"

Achilles tilts his head to the side. I wonder what her eyes feel like against his. I wonder how she sees the gold of his eyes-- the warm gold of lazy summer days.

"I fight for the Greeks," he says.

"Agamemnon is a wicked man."

"He is just one man."

"So leave him and fight for me."

Achilles scoffs. "You are just one woman."

"I'm the one who brought you back."

Achilles frowns. He had not expected that. Nor had I.

And then she adds, "It was his fault Patroclus died."

Achilles flinches.

"It wasn't you. They just let you think that because they wanted to use you. But it was them. It was Agamemnon and the gods who wanted to see you fall."

Achilles lips part, as if to speak. But he says nothing.

 _Maybe she's right_ , I want to say. _It wasn't you._ That much I feel to be true. _It wasn't you._

"Agamemnon took my body from me. And Apollo took my voice. But I let them and I bore it in exchange for a second chance. The fates promised it to me." She stands. "And they kept their promise."

She looks around. "Though they've got a sick sense of humor giving me this second chance in this world."

I don't understand.

"You're mad..." Achilles says slowly.

And instantly I know he'd made a mistake.

Her eyes flare and she screams. "NO!"

Achilles stoops and picks up his spear. It's a single swift movement that I am barely able to register. But just a second later, I hear a dozen clicks and I see all the guns pointed at us.

"He'll die!" she screams. "He'll die and this time it will be your fault! Because I gave you this chance and you're throwing it away!"

The warehouse falls silent and I'm left staring at the multitude of guns pointed at us.

"No," Achilles grits out. It is a low growl.

She shrieks. "You cannot win this! You are just a man! And you, too, will die!"

She is right. Of course she's right. We will die. As all men do. We have only the time that we have now. But it's the way she says it, as if it's some great injustice that can be prevented. It's a lie. All men die.

Achilles glances at me and I smile at him. Do as you wish, I tell him silently. I will follow you. Whatever you choose.

"Let me think about it," he finally says.

She narrows her eyes. "You're lying," she says slowly.

Achilles shrugs. "Are you going to try and kill me? Or are you going to end this charade and let us go?"

My heart is racing and I wonder if his is too. But his face is calm and his eyes are steady.

Cassandra scowls at him but huffs and waves for her men to lower their weapons. "Fine," she sighs. "But don't think I believe you." She looks at us with tired eyes. The fire has dimmed and she looks like a child. Innocent and youthful. "I'm going to let you go," she says, dropping her gaze to the floor. "You're not going to kill any of my people. You're going to go back to your camp and you're going to tell Agamemnon about me and that I want his fucking head."

"And then?"

She looks up and smiles, "actually, I don't know. I haven't seen that far, yet."

Achilles smirks. "Fair enough."

It's quiet and still for just a moment longer, until Achilles nods at me and we walk towards the door.

But she calls out softly, "One more thing."

We pause.

"Are you happy?" she asks. "Famous and happy, Ariston Acheon?"

My stomach drops. How could she know?

"Not famous. But happy," Achilles answers. His voice is calm. "They never let you have both."

Cassandra smiles. "And you've made your choice."

Achilles nods.

"It's your own story, I suppose," Cassandra says with a wave. "And no one will remember it but you."

I hate her for that, but we are already walking through the door and back out into the open. Achilles leads me into a mass of abandoned cars and we find one with fuel and a decent set of tires.

He says nothing to me for nearly half an hour. Then, suddenly, he takes my hand in his and kisses it. "You are the reason," he whispers.

It's all I need and I find myself smiling as we drive along the abandoned roads.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Needless to say, the events and characters (excluding the names of main characters) of this work are FICTION.
> 
> cheriepits exclusively owns the copyright to this work, including, but not limited to, all of its subparts, chapters, summaries, titles, and notes. Readers are free to download this work in whole or in part for their personal use and enjoyment. Readers are free to republish this work in whole or in part to share WITHIN THE SONG OF ACHILLES FANDOM. In no event is this work to be republished in whole or in part for commercial gain. In no event is this work to be republished in whole or in part for public performance. Thanks.


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